


Fear the Fever

by dracoqueen22



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Gentle Hate Sex, M/M, MTMTE Season Two, Sticky Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-15
Updated: 2015-12-15
Packaged: 2018-05-06 23:47:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,584
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5435339
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dracoqueen22/pseuds/dracoqueen22
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You can't always get what you want. Sometimes, you get what you need.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fear the Fever

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TheAirCommand](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheAirCommand/gifts).



“Make it hurt,” Rodimus challenged. “Make me feel it.” 

Megatron wished he could slam his door in the brat's face. Instead, all he could do was scowl, step back, ignore him, and hope the door sliding back shut happened fast enough to come across as irritated.

It didn't. 

Rodimus pushed into his habsuite, jittery and anxious, his plating fluffed and his field a maelstrom that grated against Megatron's. His gaze darted all around, taking in the utilitarian emptiness of Megatron's hab-suite before settling on Megatron himself. 

“By all means, come in,” Megatron said sarcastically. 

“I'm Captain. I don't need an invitation.” 

Megatron stared at him. “Your idea of leadership leaves something to be desired. No wonder Optimus decided you needed a keeper.” 

Rodimus whirled toward him, mouth agape, outrage wrote into every quivering armor plate. 

“How dare--”

“No,” Megatron interrupted and he didn't have to raise his voice to make a point. He took a step forward and was almost impressed when Rodimus held his ground. 

“How dare _you_?” Megatron demanded as he shoved a finger toward Rodimus' chestplate – badge and flames alike. 

“You barged in here. You showed up at my door with an outrageous request. You smiled and waggled your aft because it's how you get your way. And I said no.” 

Rodimus' optics narrowed. His spoiler went rigid. 

“Fine,” he spat, all full of righteous indignity. “Then I'll just take myself back out!” His field whipped through the room, as sharp as a slap to the face. 

Megatron watched, amused, as Rodimus stormed past him. “Is that how you always behave?” he asked, his tone mild but enough for Rodimus to grind to a halt and whip around to glare at him. “Do you huff and puff and throw a fit until you get your way?”

Rodimus' face twisted with outrage and it looked so familiar in that moment, Megatron had a brief flash to a time eons ago when a certain second in command of his had offered that same expression. 

Come to think of it, there were a lot of similarities between the two. 

“What is it you want from me, Rodimus?” Megatron demanded, folding his arms over his chest and shaking away the memories. 

Rodimus' spoiler twitched. “I thought I made that clear.” 

“Surely there are dozens of mechs more interested in sharing your berth than me,” Megatron said as he started to circle his fellow co-captain, impressed when Rodimus didn't flinch away. If anything, his field reached toward Megatron as if in yearning. 

How long had he been like this? Had he been waiting for someone to come along, to put him in his place? 

“Or is there something you think I can offer that they can't?” Megatron asked. 

He reached for Rodimus' back, dragging a finger across red paint and between the two planes of Rodimus' spoiler. He suspected that they were not unlike wings in that they were sensitive. A suspicion which was proved when a visible shudder raced across Rodimus' armor. His field flexed, full of heat, and pressed harder against Megatron's own. 

Needy little thing, wasn't he? 

Rodimus' hands pulled in and out of fists. His ventilations were harsh and too quick. Was this a desire or a need? 

A lot like Starscream indeed. 

“What,” Megatron said, carefully enunciating each word as he circled Rodimus until he faced his fellow co-captain again, “do you want from me, Rodimus? And don't be shy. It's not in your coding.” 

Rodimus looked up at him, optics blazing with hate and something else, something oh so familiar and tantalizing. “I hate you,” he hissed. 

So be it. 

Megatron grinned, more denta than humor. “Mmm. That's what I thought.” He tilted his head toward the berth. “Get on the damn berth.” 

He sent the code to lock his door. The only one who would be able to override it was the mech currently scrambling to get on his berth, his field a mixture of dread and anticipation. Though Ultra Magnus could, if he felt inclined. 

“No need to be rude,” Rodimus retorted but he propped himself up with one elbow and reached between his legs, fingers stroking over his panel. “I'm practically doing you a favor.” 

Megatron's optics narrowed. “A favor,” he repeated as he climbed onto the berth, pushing himself between the brat's legs. He kept his tone flat, careful not to give Rodimus any indication he'd struck a nerve cluster. 

Rodimus tilted his chin, a light of triumph in those fragging Autobot blue optics. “You think anyone else on this ship would let you frag them?” 

“Let,” Megatron echoed, unsure if he was offended or amused. If he were being gracious, he'd almost think he was looking in the mirror, except Rodimus' flavor of arrogance was different. 

Megatron swatted Rodimus' fingers away from his panel and then flicked the panel himself. “Open.”

Rodimus smirked. The panel snapped aside, lubricant immediately dribbling free and soaking the berth beneath his red-painted aft. “Eager?” 

Megatron leaned over him, planting one hand near Rodimus' helm as two fingers poked at the swollen, heated valve. They swept over the plush folds, gathering up the damp, and provoking a shiver that Rodimus failed to conceal. 

How long had Rodimus been like this, aroused and desperate for relief? Had he gone pounding on other doors looking for someone to frag him into oblivion? Or had Megatron been his first choice, his only choice? Had he wasted time pacing in the hallway? Had he asked himself, again and again, what he was doing? 

Megatron didn't bother to ask. He knew Rodimus wouldn't give him an honest answer. 

“You came to me,” Megatron reminded him as he slid two fingers into the grasping heat of Rodimus' valve. Trembling calipers clutched at him as though Rodimus hadn't used his valve in quite some time. There was no softness, no give, just the tense anticipation of a mech in need. 

“Yeah, and so far, you're a disappointment.” Rodimus shifted and closed his legs about Megatron's waist, dragging him down. “Frag me already, old mech. Or can't you do anything right?” 

Megatron knew a goad when he heard one. That didn't stop him from obeying it. He pulled his fingers free of Rodimus' valve, and grabbed Rodimus' hands before the other captain could start pawing at him or trying to force the pace. He sent the command for his spike to extend, pressurizing quickly despite the situation. Irritating Rodimus might be, but he had an appealing frame. 

Megatron rolled his hips, felt his spike nudge at Rodimus' valve. The rounded head dipped into the wetness of lubricant and immediately wished to go deeper. Megatron looked down into defiant blue optics as he pinned Rodimus' wrists to the berth, feeling them flex within his grip. 

“Tell me to stop,” Megatron said. 

Rodimus rocked his hips, smearing more lubricant on the tip of Megatron's spike, the lip of his valve catching against the head teasingly. “I can take anything you think you have, Megatron.” 

There was something unappealing in Rodimus' bravado, but Megatron couldn't quite put a finger on why. So he tightened his grip on Rodimus' hips and slowly thrust forward, knowing that Rodimus expected to be fragged into the berth and rutted upon like some beast. 

Rodimus squirmed beneath him, his ex-vents leaving him in a heated rush. His valve clutched at Megatron, hot and hungry, but Megatron kept his slow pace until he bottomed out. He ground the head of his spike slowly against Rodimus' ceiling node, and the brat threw his helm back and gasped. His hips rolled, working himself on Megatron's valve. 

“Primus,” he moaned. “Can't you… can't you frag me harder, old mech?” 

Megatron smirked and leaned down, nipping at one of Rodimus' helm spars, prompting another full frame shiver. “I could,” he purred and rocked his hips, barely shifting himself within Rodimus' valve. “But I don't need to.” 

And he proceeded to prove it. 

He ignored Rodimus begging him. He ignored Rodimus trying to tug his wrists free or his pedes beating against the back of Megatron's thighs. 

He fragged Rodimus slowly, carefully, like he held something delicate. He bore down on Rodimus with all his bulk and squeezed his wrists hard enough to feel the plating buckle, but his spike was nothing but soft and sweet in Rodimus' valve. 

Rodimus whined. He complained. He tried to move himself, but Megatron had him effectively pinned. 

Rodimus turned into a whimpering, moaning mess beneath him. As lubricant pulsed out of Rodimus' valve and yet his spike never made an appearance. Rodimus' plating flexed and lifted, desperate to ease the heat pooling under his armor. He made the sweetest cries and Megatron was tempted, for a moment, to ease the pleasurable ache. 

But no, this was what Rodimus had asked for. It wasn't Megatron's fault that Rodimus didn't know what it meant. Or that he hadn't been specific enough. 

Megatron leaned further over Rodimus, thrust deep and then ground down. His plating rubbed on Rodimus' swollen anterior node, making Rodimus' hips jerk and his calipers cycle down. They trembled, clutching at Megatron's spike, more lubricant welling up around them. Rodimus' optics were a bright, startled blue. 

“Let me overload,” he sobbed, panting for cooler air. 

Megatron nibbled on a helm spar, sucked it into his mouth, breathed down damp, hot ventilations. “Do you hurt?” he asked, hearkening back to Rodimus' demand earlier. 

“You fragger,” Rodimus cried. He tossed his helm back, his frame trembling, cycling higher and faster toward an overload that Megatron kept just out of reach. 

His flexing intake was an offer Megatron couldn't refuse. So he pressed his mouth against those cables and nibbled at them with his denta. Rodimus shivered beneath him, his thighs trembling around Megatron's hips.

Rodimus tugged harder at his wrists and Megatron retreated, sliding into him with slow, dragging thrusts. Overload hovered at the base of his own spinal strut, a tightening knot of tension, but he would at least attend to Rodimus first. 

Rodimus spat out several more unpleasant words and squirmed. His ex-vents were hot enough to sting Megatron's substructure. Charge danced out from beneath his armor, crawling over his plating in bright bursts of blue. His energy field was a frenetic whirl of need, a chaotic maelstrom of emotion that was rasping to the touch, no matter how much Megatron pulled in his own. 

“Do you want to overload?” Megatron whispered into Rodimus' audial. He circled his hips, stirring all of the sensors in Rodimus' valve. 

“Yes,” Rodimus moaned. 

Megatron's lips painted a path of desire over the curve of Rodimus' jaw. “I didn't catch that. You'll have to repeat yourself.” 

He rocked into Rodimus and ground down, exciting both anterior node and ceiling node all at once. “Do you want to overload?” 

“You manipulative slagger!” Rodimus snarled and his entire frame tensed, hovering right on that cusp, that painful, pleasurable moment before the next beat of an overload. “Give it to me!” 

“Yes, _Captain_ ,” Megatron purred and rolled his hips again, the tip of his spike catching Rodimus' node in the same moment he ground hard against the brat's external node. 

Rodimus' backstrut bowed as he overloaded, his mouth open in a soundless cry. His valve clamped down like a vise, preventing Megatron from retreating as release ripped through the co-captain. Rodimus' fans whirred, hard enough to vibrate Megatron's frame. Lubricant spilled out of his valve before the clamp of it eased into a repetitive ripple that drew Megatron into an overload of his own. 

He groaned, forehead pressed to Rodimus shoulder as he spilled deep into Rodimus, a small chuckle escaping him at the idea of staking a claim on someone like Rodimus. He was the type of catch better suited for returning to its natural habitat. One did not take Rodimus home to be an obedient pet. 

Rodimus sagged into the berth, a tremor taking over his entire frame. He panted and struggled to cycle in cool air. He lay there limply, his valve twitching around Megatron's spike, but the desperate clutch of it had gone.

Megatron released his hold on Rodimus' wrists, but Rodimus didn't move. His optics were dim until he shuttered them entirely and cycled a loud ventilation. 

Megatron sat back on his heels, slipping free of Rodimus' valve with another trickle of lubricant and transfluid. The berth was a mess he realized dourly as Rodimus' legs slid from his waist and his pedes panted on the berth. He still hadn't closed his panel, not even after Megatron tucked his spike away. 

He frowned and was two seconds away from throwing the baby Prime out of his berth and out the door, now that Rodimus had gotten what he wanted. 

Except….

Except Rodimus was still shaking. And that bothered Megatron. He wasn't sure, before, if Rodimus came here to exercise some kind of inner sparkeater, or to make a point. But signs seemed to point to the former, and Megatron wasn't sure what he was supposed to do with that. 

He was the Decepticon Warlord. Formerly. He was an evil tyrant who had taken millions upon billions of lives or given the orders for such anyway. He had no patience for a mech who hated difficult questions, thought way too much of himself, and was the kind of commander whose reckless behavior got the mechs around him killed. 

But the idea of tossing Rodimus out on his entitled aft left an uncomfortable pit in Megatron's tanks. 

Fragging brat. 

Megatron cycled a ventilation and shifted position, easing from between Rodimus' legs to stretch out in what limited space was next to Rodimus on the berth. Rodimus, suddenly, felt a lot smaller as Megatron rolled him into an embrace. He was hot, too, and nestled into Megatron's chestplate when Megatron stroked a hand down his back. 

Okay. He was almost adorable like this. Almost. 

They lay there for several minutes, Megatron counting his ventilations and wondering if maybe he'd have to call Ultra Magnus and explain that he'd somehow broken Rodimus and could he please come and retrieve his wayward co-captain. And then he would walk down to the brig because he was rather certain there was no way to come out of this without someone accusing him of dastardly behavior. 

Rodimus chose that moment to stir – how did he have such impeccable timing? – his engine giving a slight rev. “You're such an aft,” he grumbled. 

Wow. 

Megatron grunted at him. “Then get out of my berth,” he said, yet his hands continued to pet the baby Prime's spoiler and back, like they were magnetically attracted to obnoxiously bright and garish flames. 

“No.” Rodimus snuggled in closer, like he belonged here in Megatron's berth and didn't have his own, probably ridiculously luxurious berth. “I'm comfortable.” 

“This was not in the original agreement,” Megatron pointed out. 

Rodimus threw a leg over his. “You didn't follow the rules either.” 

“And my punishment is to share a berth with you?” Megatron rolled his optics and tilted onto his back, unsurprised when Rodimus followed him and lay draped atop him. “I ought to throw you on the floor.” 

Or better yet, out the door. 

Rodimus made a noncommittal noise. 

Megatron didn't throw him anywhere. 

He supposed he would have to share his berth or risk causing a scene. The latter was most unappealing at the moment. 

Megatron sighed. 

Trust a baby Prime to get his way after all. It probably came with the territory.

****


End file.
